


Traveling Where Demons Lie

by Beta2Omega (BetaZ)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Demon!Stiles, F/M, M/M, Other characters will come in later, Sterek eventual (preslash), This is going to be long so bear with me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-25
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 01:23:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetaZ/pseuds/Beta2Omega
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has been beaten, bruised, and forgotten. So when he gets chance to become strong, fast, and useful? Hell, yeah! But not everything is as it seems...</p><p>Canon divergence after 2x11 Battlefield</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Step 1

He can hear the crowd cheer. Why? Because he just scored the _winning goal that’s why, baby!_ Stiles is seriously King of the World right now. He not only played in an actual GAME, he helped them WIN. And now everyone’s cheering and they’re cheering for _Stiles_ and _YES!_ This is what he is talking about! This is freaking awesome! His dad is happy and yelling and cheering and _proud_ and _Lydia_ is smiling and cheering _for Stiles_. This is seriously the best day of his life, hands down. And that is including the first Halloween after meeting Scott and learning that he hated chocolate so he gave all his chocolate to Stiles while he took all the fruit snacks and coconut bars that Stiles didn’t want. This is better than _that_. Because Lydia is cheering and his Dad is happy and he did something _right_. 

Stiles’ teammates are all around him, screaming and smiling and laughing because _they won_. WE WON. And Stiles couldn’t believe it. It was too good to be true. His life wasn’t like this. His life was confusing and terrifying and dark and violent and bloody and…

And that’s when the lights went out. That’s when the screaming stopped being screams of joy and started being screams of outright panic. This is more of the Wonderful World of Terror Stiles knows and hates. But all he could think about was that his dad, his DAD is out there, and something is wrong. Stiles starts to run in the general direction of the bleachers, but he can’t see much. So many people are running around him, bumping into him, pushing against him, trying to get away from an invisible predator and Stiles can’t make any sense of it. Stiles feels a hand try to hold onto his wrist, an attempt to pull Stiles away from whatever is happening. He bats the hand away easily and continues trekking towards his goal. And then there’s an arm around his throat and a hand over his mouth. Stiles fights against it, but whoever it is has a firm grip on him. He tries to scream to Scott, to Isaac, to _anybody_ , but his muffled cries are lost in the crowd. 

There’s an overpowering smell and Stiles’ last thought is that they’re drugging him. He tries to struggle, but it’s too late and everything’s dark.

^^^^^

He can smell blood. Almost taste it, all metal and bloody on his tongue and OH GOD the blood is his. He’s bleeding. A lot actually, if the red puddle around him is anything to go by. His vision isn’t clear, lines are blurred, and his hearing is muffled. Which Stiles can recognize as head trauma, of course, considering how many times his head has met the hard surface of a wall or floor or ANYTHING hard, really, since he was introduced to this whole wolf-out thing and SHIT, Stiles is going to die, isn’t he? Because that is the Big Bad standing in front of him, all old and evil and deadly. He’s waving his hand at one of the other men in the room, like batting an annoying fly, and slipping a pill into his mouth. Gerard is smiling like it’s Christmas and Stiles is the biggest, shiniest present under the tree. The shiny part might be close, what with the BLOOD and all, but Stiles doesn’t really care for being objectified. The eldest Argent is staring at Stiles like he _knows_ , like he can read his mind. Which, hell, maybe he can, considering how it seems like everyone else in town has some badass mojo powers to work with. Everyone but Stiles, it seems. But he gets to lie in a puddle of his own blood staring up hazily at an old guy who pops too many pills. Oh, _joy_.

Big Bad is saying something, but Stiles can’t really make it out. You know, because he has HEAD TRAUMA for the five hundredth time, seriously, you would think villains would know better than to go for the head of their hostages. Haven’t any of them seen The Dark Knight? Speaking of which, Stiles could really use one of those right about now, considering how he’s still bleeding. 

So apparently the inability to process information properly is not a good enough excuse to not pay attention to the old guy. He’s crouching next to Stiles, smacking his wrinkly hand against Stiles’ head causing the younger man to flinch.

_Hey, great, poke the injured dude lying on the floor. That seems productive._

Stiles thinks his hearing is clearing up, because he can make out some of what Gerard is saying, even though it sounds like he’s talking through a door. He catches the words _werewolf buddies_ and _Derek_ and _message_. Stiles tunes him out a bit after that. Of course, they’re making a message out of him. Beat up the human pet to show what happens when the wolves don’t play nice. How quaint. 

There’s a flair of pressure and pain in Stiles’ right shoulder. Holy _shit_ , that _hurts like a mother—_. He’s biting his lip to keep a scream from passing his lips and he can taste fresh blood as his teeth press too hard. His eyes are squeezed tightly closed; he can’t do anything, can’t move, the pain growing worse when he tries. Suddenly, the pressure’s gone and the pain dulls slightly, though his shoulder feels like it’s on fire every time he so much as twitches. 

Stiles can vaguely tell that Gerard is asking him something, but he’s a little too busy to care at the moment. When he finally opens his eyes, he sees a knife shining in Gerard’s hand, edge slick with red…Stiles thinks he might puke a little bit. 

Old, Evil, and Deadly has apparently decided he’s not getting anything out of Stiles right now. He’s walking away, using that slow, king-of-the-world villain walk you see in all the movies.

_Yeah, you better walk away. If I wasn’t, you know, dying, you’d be in some serious trouble. A dose of the Stiles Stilinski Ass Kickery Extravaganza 101 and —_ , oh god, it hurts. _Shit_ , that _stings_. Because now that his senses are kicking in, Stiles is fully processing that he is in serious **pain**. 

Stiles curls into himself, trying to push the ache away, but nothing is helping. His temples are throbbing and he can almost feel the bruise where _someone_ slammed _something_ into his _head_. _Again_. Why does it always have to be his head? But of course, Stiles isn’t that lucky because his arm that _wasn’t_ sliced by Gerard’s sadism is burning any time it so much as twitches and _craaaaap_ Stiles thinks it’s broken. How is he going to explain a broken arm to his Dad? Seriously, its not enough that he has to hide bruises from being slammed up against walls and wash blood off his clothes. Now he has to lie to his Dad AGAIN. Of course, that’s if Stiles doesn’t die first.

_Okay, Stiles, you can do this. Plan, I need a plan. Step 1: …Don’t die. Good plan._

Stiles tries to take a deep breath, but that just makes the throbbing worse. Rolling to his side, he tries to get up using his right arm, slowly, avoiding the break in his left, but can’t make it more than a few inches. His sliced shoulder gives out, hurling him back to the ground, and more _fun, fun pain, yay!_

His right hand flies across his body to his left side, where the pain has amplified from the fall. His heart stops for a moment when he feels something slick. Stiles closes his eyes and raises his hand, only opening them when it hovers over his chest and into his line of vision. It’s covered in red. _Shit._ He panics a little and reaches back again to put pressure on his side, hoping to slow the bleeding. _That would explain the puddle of blood_ though it hadn’t really hit him that the blood had to come from _somewhere_. Stiles thinks he might revisit the puking idea soon.

_What the hell did they do to me?_

Because seriously, this is a bit of an overkill. Stiles is _human_. A weak, pathetically outmatched human that the (apparently very, very morally grey) hunters seemed to have gutted for no apparent reason. Lying to his dad just got a lot more difficult. 

He tries to take in his surroundings while moving as little as possible. There are only two other guys in the room with him _because obviously he’s not planning a daring escape anytime soon_ , but Stiles could barely make out faint voices coming from somewhere else in the building. The building that is sort of dark. And dusty. And _smells_. The room smells worst than old gym shorts, which is saying something coming from a guy who’s on the lacrosse team and has to share a locker room with a bunch of guys. And Scott. Or at least was on the team. Unless zombies make it on the _Holy Fuck What Do You Mean That’s a Real Thing?_ list. Then maybe he could shoot for that. Who knows? He might make an excellent Undead. Or Living Dead. Which is politically correct? He’ll have to ask his Zombie Mentor. He’ll probably get one. A crap one, but still. Even Scott got Derek. 

Stiles is feeling dizzy and nauseous and a crap-ton of other not-so-giddy feelings right now. His vision is starting to darken, so he guesses that the blood loss has gotten to a pretty bad level. That, or the pain just sucks that much. He can’t be sure. All he knows is that the moment he begins to slip back into a blissful, painless state of mind, the window above him crashes open and guns are firing and there’s growling and snarling and screams of pain and everything’s dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by august_justice


	2. Thank Fuck for the Little Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout and explanation of what the heck is going on. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun, fun exposition (but I added a smidgen of Sterek?).

Everything’s too bright. That’s the first thought to cross Stiles’ mind when it decides to revisit the Land of the Living. Also his head’s a bit swimmy, but he doesn’t really mind. Better swimmy than feeling like it was about to crack open at the lightest touch. 

The pain’s gone, which is definitely something to celebrate, but his mouth is really dry and he feels…hungry. Yep, definitely hungry. Stiles could definitely go for a burger right about now. 

This is the point when he decides to open his eyes. Probably best to figure out where he is and why he went from lying on a hard, scratchy floor to lying on a hard, freaking _cold_ floor. Stiles isn’t sure this is an improvement, per say. 

When he finally does get around to squinting his eyes open, the first thing Stiles registers is that someone (with, admittedly, pretty amazing eyes) was looking back at him. Upside down. And very close. Which, in his opinion, means that it is perfectly logical to scream (which he totally did _not_ do because he is _suave_ ) and flail around (you can’t prove that), causing multiple things to happen at once. His left arm shoots out towards the face, making contact with a sickening crunch and sending pain flying through his limb, which of course makes him jerk back and ultimately sending him crashing to the ground when he falls off the table he was apparently lying on a moment ago.

Stiles quickly rights himself, trying to ignore the pain in his arm as he faces his attacker—er, attackee? Because that’s not Gerard or the kanima or any of a number of murderous fiends who would love to take a (sometimes literal) stab at the teen. No, that’s a very angry looking werewolf holding his nose, which seems to be bleeding spectacularly (Stiles ignores the small tinge of pride that he was able to somewhat defend himself, even when he was half-unconscious. Derek may take offense to that thought, considering he looks like he’s seriously considering killing Stiles himself at the moment).

“Sorry! Sorry, I…” Stiles feels his face morph into a half sheepish, half trying not to laugh _thing_ , and he tries to school his features into a semi-normal-for-people-apologizing-for-breaking-a-werewolf’s-nose expression. He’s fairly certain that he’s failing. Awesome. But the Alpha seems appeased enough as he tests his nose, which apparently healed at some point during the teen’s fumbling. He just gives a slight nod and turns away to clean his face of the blood. 

Now that Stiles isn’t being held under the intense glare of the older man, he has a chance to look around. He takes in the silver table and the posters about caring for animals and various cabinets. Stiles is fairly certain he’s at the vet’s office where Scott works. The assumption is confirmed when the vet appears from the next room holding a small jar of…something. Is that dirt? There’s a Jack Sparrow joke in there somewhere, Stiles is pretty sure. 

Deaton has stopped, staring at Stiles standing in the middle of the room looking like he’s done something wrong (which is offensive, but considering the amount of blood spilt just minutes ago that was _not_ his, Stiles is going to let the accusing stare slide) and Derek, who has finished cleaning up said blood, barring a few small spots on the collar of his shirt where the crimson liquid had dripped. Seriously, how many of Derek’s shirts have had blood on them? Almost every time Stiles sees the guy, blood is somehow involved.

The vet just shakes his head and settles his eyes on Stiles’ arm, which he is cradling because _ow_ it stills hurts like _heeeeeell_. He approaches the teen, setting the jar of dirt on the table as he takes hold of Stiles’ arm gently. This is probably how he handles the animals that come through. Again, the feeling that he should be offended passes his mind, but again he ignores it in favor of letting the good vet-doctor-person do his work. 

“Broken,” he mutters as Stiles winces at the twinging in his arm. 

The teen fights the urge to mutter, “Duh,” back at him because, hello, do not taunt the guy giving you free medical care. 

“You’ll need a doctor to take a look at that.”

Stiles frowns at that. “Can’t you do it?”

“Yes,” Deaton starts as he releases the younger man’s arm. “I could. But I won’t be the one to explain to your father why you went to a veterinarian to get your arm taken care of.” He gives Stiles a mocking smile. “You need a people doctor.” That line was given in a slightly sarcastic tone that adults use on four-year-olds to explain why the sky is blue. Stiles is not amused. Derek smirks, and Stiles sends a sarcastic, huffing laugh at him, thinking seriously about chunking something at the werewolf’s head.

Stiles reluctantly nods and hopes he can come up with a good excuse to give his dad. _Shit_ , his dad! “What happened? Is my dad okay? Where’s Scott? Is Lydia okay? Is _everyone_ okay?” Stiles is talking a mile a minute. He tries to look back and forth between Derek and Deaton, causing him to twist his torso since they were on either side of him. His questions and full-body-panic was halted by Deaton’s hand on his shoulder, gripping slightly to still him. Derek is standing next to him now, staring at him like Stiles is an idiot. 

“Please don’t pop the stitches. It’s a miracle you haven’t yet, and I really don’t want to redo those,” Deaton sighs as he turns to mess with something on the counter across the room. Stiles stares at him, confused, until he remembers a knife gleaming with his own blood and pain ripping through him and—he had to shake his head to rid himself of the visuals. “You lost a lot of blood, thankfully not enough to need a transfusion.”

Well thank fuck for the little things.

“I seem fine now.”

“Thanks to some of my own personal tricks I had lying around. You were lucky. Things could have gone a lot worse than they did.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything to that. He knows Deaton is right. He couldn’t heal like the others, wasn’t as badass with a crossbow like Allison (because no matter how psycho she is at the moment, she is, indeed, badass). 

The teen looks to where Derek is still standing next to him. His nose looks like nothing had ever happened, just the small traces of stray blood on his shirt giving away that it had been broken just ten minutes ago. Stiles can’t do that…and this is when Stiles notices that Derek’s own is not the only blood staining the man’s front.

“Whose blood is that?”

Derek looks down like he hadn’t realized that he was a walking neon sign blaring, “Question me! Arrest me, Officer! I’m a crazy psycho ax-murderer!” He just looks back to Stiles. 

“Some of it’s mine, mostly it’s from the hunters. Some of it’s…” Stiles can guess that at least a little bit is his own blood, but they were skipping over that nauseating thought right now, thank you very much. He nods, maybe a little too over-enthused for the situation, but effective enough to tell Derek he understood. He would just rather not hear him say the words out loud.

“So what exactly happened?” he asks, calmer than before. “How’d I end up here?”

Derek is the one who explains what happened. He explains how Scott and Isaac came to him when they ran out of options (“By the way, Peter’s back, we’ll talk about that later.” _What the fuck?_ ), how the Alpha gathered his pack (“What did you do to Erica? She and Boyd had been on their way to find another pack until they ran into Scott and Isaac. She was kind of determined to help find you…” “What can I say, I have a way with the ladies!”), and about how the pack collectively sniffed Stiles out by splitting up to cover more ground, finding him, and busting the place open like werewolf ninjas (that may be a little paraphrased, but Stiles thinks that makes it more exciting). He talks about how apparently not even the kanima can kill the kanima, but that’s okay because Jackson’s a werewolf now (Stiles is fairly sure that something is missing in that story. He does a literal double take, despite having already been looking directly at Derek, and forces the Alpha to explain that again, much slower with more words). The older man doesn’t understand it either, but he and Peter killed him, and he came back a werewolf. 

“Peter thinks it has something to do with Lydia. Her helping him realize she loves him and allowing him to accept himself, or something.”

Of course, that sends a wrench to Stiles’ gut. “Wait, how does that make sense if she wasn’t there?”

“She was. Scott brought her. Last ditch effort to save Jackson.”

“And it worked…” Stiles says quietly. Derek looks at him for a moment.

A quiet “Yeah” passes between them.

“That’s great!” Stiles puts on a smile. “I guess that means that true love conquers all and all that!” Inside, his gut is churning. Lydia was back with Jackson. Lydia loves Jackson. Enough to do what not even death could accomplish, evidently.

“That’s great,” he says again, softer, more to himself. Derek says nothing, letting the teen have his moment. Stiles shakes himself, clears his throat, and says, “So, uh. What happened to Gerard?”

A shadow passes over the Alpha’s face. 

“Dead.”

“Just like that?”

“No. But it’s what matters.”

“Oh come on! How’d he die? Who killed him?” Stiles wants to thank whoever sent the guy who tortured him and maimed him to his maker. Which is definitely something he would have never thought of pre-my-best-friend-is-werewolf-now. He tries not to mull on how much he’s changed since then.

Derek sighs, giving in. Like Stiles knew he would because Stiles is awesome like that.

“Technically? Scott.”

Before Stiles can fist-pump that his best friend was badass, something catches his attention. “Technically?”

“He switched Gerard’s pills with wolfsbane. Then he forced me to bite Gerard. Turns out the old man was dying and wanted to be turned to escape death. Werewolf bite plus wolfsbane poisoning equals death. Simple. Disgusting to watch, but simple.”

“Oh. Huh. That was actually…a pretty decent plan. Way to go, Scott!” He finally fist pumps in celebration that his best friend is awesome. Derek just gives a confirming grunt and a small scowl.

Deaton, who had slipped into the next room while Derek had been explaining everything, comes back. “Alright, I’m fairly certain Stiles won’t die. Go home.”

Both of the younger men stare at him incredulously. Deaton looks back, one eyebrow raised, and shrugs. Derek nods and begins to walk towards the door. Stiles, however, takes this time to realize that his torso was a little…exposed.

“Uh, guys? Where’s my shirt?”

“Your shirt is bloody and ruined. Scott usually keeps a spare in the back for when he gives the dogs a bath.” Deaton motions towards the next room with a slight nod. After nabbing his friend’s shirt and carefully putting it on with Deaton’s help (His arm is on _fire_ and his stitches look _disgusting_. Maybe they’ll leave a badass scar…), Stiles is standing outside with an awkwardly aggressive werewolf and no Jeep to drive home.

“Dude, where’s my car?” Stiles hides a small smirk at the reference.

“Still at the school.”

“How am I getting home?”

Derek gives him his “You’re an idiot” glare. He should really copyright those.

“I’m dropping you off.” He walks to where his Camaro is parked. Stiles hadn’t noticed the sleek, black car against the darkness. 

“Oh…why—“ 

“Isaac decided to use it to bring Lydia to the house. Actually, it was probably more Scott’s idea. More his style. Then we used it to get you here.”

Stiles walks to the car and stops in front of the passenger door. “His style?” 

“Taking advantage of things when he needs them, throwing them away like trash when he doesn’t.”

“Hey! Aren’t you supposed to be nice to you pack? Or at least civil?”

“He’s not Pack.”

Stiles stops with his hand on the door handle. “What?”

Derek doesn’t repeat himself, just looks at Stiles from across the car roof. 

“Why not? I thought he joined your pack weeks ago!”

That earns him another scowl. “So did I. We were both wrong.” He climbs into the car, leaving Stiles staring at the space he previously occupied. What did he miss this time?

That’s exactly what he asks Derek when he joins him in the small space of the car. The older man huffs and tries to brush it off, but Stiles refuses to back down. This had to do with his best friend, damnit, he was not just letting this go. Derek was not going to act like Scott was the scum of the earth without an explanation like an emotionally constipated sourwolf. 

“Well your _best friend_ is a fucking traitor, so I think I reserve the right to be a little pissed off.”

“Scott is not a traitor, you asshole! How many times has he helped saved your little werewolf ass?”

“Probably less than the amount of times he ran to Gerard with information about us!”

Stiles froze. “What? That doesn’t even make sense!”

“Your buddy was working with Gerard. He was feeding him information for weeks. That is the only reason he ‘joined’ the pack. To spy on us. Then he let the kanima paralyze me so I could be forced to bite Gerard. He used me without telling me his plan. Sound like a hero to you?”

The teen’s mouth was open now, his voice gone. That doesn’t sound like Scott. He wouldn’t do that. Scott was the lovable, albeit sometimes naïve, puppy that had Stiles’ back and wanted to help people. He couldn’t hurt people (apart from when he lost himself to the wolf’s instincts, but still). There’s no way. 

“You’re lying.”

Derek sighs. “Why would I lie about that?”

“I don’t know! That’s what you do! Right? Right! You never tell the whole truth. Because you don’t trust us. You don’t trust anybody.”

“No one seems inclined to give me a reason to,” Derek mutters. He’s looking at Stiles from the corner of his eye. And Stiles really doesn’t know what to do with that.

He decides to switch topics until he can get the whole story from Scott. “Why are you here, anyway? What happened with everyone else?” He is forcing himself to look forward, avoiding any eye contact with the Alpha.

The werewolf closes off any emotion from his face as he finally sits back and starts the car. “Jackson took Lydia home. I’m assuming he ran with her, he didn’t have his car, but I wasn’t really focused on him at the time.” Stiles looks at him quickly at that. Derek notices and grudgingly explains. “You were hurt. I was busy trying to get you in the car to take you to Deaton’s.” Stiles feels his eyes widen slightly as he focuses on not looking at the Alpha again.

“About that, why didn’t one of you just run? Wouldn’t that have been faster?”

“And would have probably made your wounds bleed more with all the moving. We put you in the back seat and Scott sat with you, trying to stop the bleeding. Isaac ran ahead to warn Deaton. He was just closing up when he got there.”

Stiles nods slowly, noticing for the first time the smell of blood that lingered in the car. “Sorry about the whole bleeding on the upholstery thing.”

“I don’t really care about that.”

Another nod. “So, the others?”

“Scott had to get home to his mom, and I sent the others home. There wasn’t anything else they could do, just take up space in the office.”

“Why did you stay behind?”

Stiles could tell Derek was biting his cheek, like it pained him to admit something. “I’m responsible for my pack.”

His eyebrows shot up at that. “I’m not a werewolf.” Because obviously that’s the biggest reason he wouldn’t be called Pack by Derek, yeah, right. But it’s the first thing that pops into his head. Derek just shrugs stiffly. 

Clearly this is one of those things they weren’t supposed to talk about. Because of emotionally constipated werewolves. Got it. Stiles decides that he should just accept it and drop it in case Derek decides to change his mind. Or slam his head into the dashboard. Both would suck. 

Stiles is drawn out of his rambling when the car stops. He looks out, confused. “This isn’t my house.”

The Alpha rolls his eyes. “No. It’s not.”

“I thought you were taking me to my house.”

“I never said that. You need to get your arm checked.”

“Right!” Stiles looks down to his broken arm. “Probably a good idea.” 

He carefully exits the car. Before shutting the door, he sticks his head back inside and looks at Derek.

“Thanks. For. You know. Not letting me die.”

Derek gives him a blank look before saying flatly, “Anytime.”

He closes the door and watches the car speed off. Stiles worries his bottom lip for a moment, taking in everything he had learned that night. He really didn’t know what to think about the whole Scott thing. But since there wasn’t too much he could do about that right now, he figures it’s just another thing to worry about tomorrow. For now, he looks up a the bright building, trying to decide what he would tell his dad when the doctors would inevitably call him, and started walking to the entrance of the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by august_justice. Seriously, she is freaking awesome.


	3. Going Through the Motions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Stiles have an overdue talk, and Stiles might be led to question Derek's motives.

So life was going better than expected. 

Well. Mostly. Meaning Stiles isn’t grounded.

Which, truthfully, it would have been in poor taste, what with his broken arm and everything. To ground Stiles, he means. This isn’t counting the phone call his dad received from the hospital in the middle of the night saying that his missing son showed up out of the blue with a broken arm. And also not counting how his dad had rushed to said hospital to get to Stiles and had freaked out because of the arm thing and the bruises and busted lip he was apparently also sporting from his adventure to hell. 

Stiles is also going to not count the whole lying thing.

Because what is he supposed to say, exactly? “Sorry I worried you, Dad, but I was kidnapped by some crazy, psycho werewolf hunter who thought beating the crap out of me would make a good statement to the whole pack of werewolves that live in your town, and, oh, by the way, werewolves are real!” Stiles isn’t so sure that would go over well.

Plus, the teen really didn’t want his dad involved in the werewolf thing any more than strictly necessary. 

So, instead, Stiles told his dad that some assholes were upset about losing the game and took it out on him. Not the best lie he’s come up with, considering he had been missing for several hours, but his dad seemed to believe him. Enough to demand names so he could kick the kids’ asses (which just makes his dad awesome). But Stiles was able to talk him down, swearing that he didn’t get a good look at them. Although that didn’t really appease his dad, it did set him off the warpath. 

Stiles had to stop himself from wincing whenever someone would bump up against his injured shoulder or side (whatever Deaton had given him was starting to wear off. He’d have to get a refill on his magical remedy the next chance he got). He really didn’t want to have to explain those wounds. Especially not to his dad.

Now the teen is sitting on a really uncomfortable chair, brand new cast encasing his still hurting arm. His dad is sitting in the chair next to him as they wait for the nurse to come back with a prescription for the pain. 

His dad is glancing at him in the corner of his eye. It’s a bit unnerving, but Stiles tries to ignore it. For about two whole minutes.

“I’m not going to break, you know. It was just some stupid kids.”

The Sheriff finally turns fully towards his son. “Are you sure—”

“That I didn’t get a good look at them? Yes,” he answers, exasperated. 

“Stiles, that’s the first thing I taught you!”

“Yeah, but I never thought I would actually need to _use_ it! Plus, I was a little busy to worry about the Three Step Process. I told you, don’t worry about it. I’m fine!”

“You have a broken arm! How is that fine?”

“I’ll find a way to pay you back. The hospital bill—”

“I don’t care about the hospital bill, Stiles! I care that _my son_ is in the _hospital._ ”

Stiles’ mouth snaps shut. 

His dad sighs and runs a hand over his face. Then he puts a hand on the back of Stiles’ neck. “Are you sure you’re okay? Not…” He motions to Stiles’ arm. “Are _you_ …okay?”

The teen’s jaw tenses as he nods. “Yeah, dad. I’m okay.”

The Sheriff pauses before nodding. He pulls Stiles into a hug, careful not to jar the injured limb. Stiles hugs him back with his free arm, fighting through the pain in his shoulder. 

“I love you, son.”

Stiles closes his eyes and tries to forget all the lies he has told in the past few months. Everything he has hidden from his dad to protect him. He grips a little tighter.

“Love you, too, dad.”

They release each other with the Sheriff leaving a quick pat on his son’s back for emphasis. The nurse comes in a few minutes later, and finally, _finally_ , Stiles is able to go home.

^^^^^

Not that that means he gets to sleep. 

When they reach the house, Scott is sitting on the step leading up to the door. He stands as Stiles and his dad exit the car, but before he can say anything, the Sheriff holds up a hand.

“Not tonight Scott.”

“But—”

“He needs to rest. You can see him after school tomorrow.”

Scott looks like someone kicked his puppy as he nods and walks toward his house two streets over. Stiles goes up to his room as soon as his dad gets the door opened, refusing the food offered and wincing as ascending the stairs jolts the injuries on his side. 

He reaches his room and immediately opens his window to let Scott in.

“Thanks,” Scott says and he grins, taking in Stiles’ cast. “What was the verdict? Are you going to be okay?”

“Course I am. You think a couple of old, blood-thirsty hunters can rid the world of Stiles Stilinski? It’s going to take a lot more than that!” Stiles grins and puffs up his chest. Which loses all effect when Scott playfully punches his sliced shoulder and Stiles bodily flinches away.

Scott flails slightly. “Sorry! Oh, god, I’m sorry, I forgot!”

“It’s okay! I’m good,” Stiles waves it off as the pain fades.

“That reminds me! I went back to Deaton’s to check up on you after my mom went to bed. You were already gone, but he gave me this to give to you.” He pulls out a small bag of…oh look, it’s more dirt. Actually, this looked more like weed than dirt upon further investigation. Which will certainly go over well if his dad was to find it in his room. 

“He told me what it was, but I can’t remember. All I know is that you’re supposed to burn it and put it on the wounds. He said it would help stop infection.” He hands the bag to Stiles, who eyes it suspiciously. 

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” Scott grins. Stiles shrugs and puts the bag on his nightstand.

“How’s it look?” His best friend nods to Stiles’ side. Stiles carefully lifts his shirt to reveal his awesome stitches. He grins as Scott’s face scrunches up at the sight. His friend goes to poke it, and Stiles smacks his hand back, using his cast to keep his shirt up.

“Aw, that’s gross!”

“I know, right? I’m hoping it’ll leave a scar. Maybe I can use it to pick up girls? Say that I fought off a tiger to save a baby, or something.” Scott laughs at Stiles’ ramblings as he pulls the shirt back down to cover the wound.

“So what happened? Deaton said you left with Derek, but I came here to see you, and no one was home.”

“Derek dropped me off at the hospital. They called my dad, so he went up there, too. Did you just wait on the stoop the whole time?”

Scott shrugged and nodded. “The last time I saw you, Deaton was cleaning up blood so he could stitch you up. I would’ve stayed, but my mom called, and…”

“I get it. Thanks, by the way.”

Scott shrugged again. “Can’t let my best friend die, now can I?” Stiles’ jaw tenses again as he remembers Derek’s words. He can feel his heartbeat rising, and Scott sends him an odd look. “You okay, Stiles?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I just…I’m going to get some water. I’ll be right back.” He gestures for Scott to stay as he leaves the room and goes downstairs. His dad must have already gone to bed, since he doesn’t run into him on the way to the kitchen. 

Stiles does get a glass of water, but he just holds it as he leans against the counter in the kitchen, staring at a spot on the floor. He runs his thumb over the rim of the glass. Should he ask Scott about the whole Gerard thing? What if what Derek said was true? 

He sighs, knowing that Scott was still waiting for him to return, was able to hear Stiles’ lack of movement and his nervous heartbeat. Stiles takes in a mouthful of the liquid and climbs the stairs back to his room, where he closes the door behind him and sets the glass down on his dresser, keeping his fingers on the rim as he stares at the water.

“Can I ask you something?” he begins before he can lose his nerve.

Scott looks up from his spot at the desk, where he had been reading the back of the new computer game Stiles had bought just a couple of days ago. “Yeah…”

“Did you…” Stiles began to bite his lip, but quickly stopped when he remembered that it was split. He tapped the glass a few times and finally looked up at his friend. “Did you go to Gerard with information about the pack?”

He watched as Scott’s face turned from shock and confusion to guilt. He had never been good about hiding his emotions. 

“How’d you find out?”

Stiles felt his stomach plummet. “So it’s true? You sold everyone out to Gerard? To the guy that did this?” he said calmly, gesturing to his broken arm and injured side in a sweeping movement, never taking his eyes off of his best friend.

“It’s not like that! It was before he hurt you! Stiles, you know I would never…he threatened my mom, what was I supposed to do?”

“You _tell_ us! Ask for help! We could have protected her.”

“Like they protected you?”

Stiles clenched his teeth; he could feel his nostrils flare. “You can’t keep doing things on your own. The whole Lone Ranger thing doesn’t work anymore! You can’t have possibly believed it was a good idea. Right?”

Scott tensed and refused to look at Stiles.

“Oh, come on! You didn’t even tell me what was going on! Why was that? Huh?”

“You would have stopped me!”

“Damn right, I would have stopped you. Because it was a stupid thing to do!”

“I had to!”

“No you didn’t! You could have asked for help, why is that such a hard concept for you to grasp? Derek would have helped you. The pack would have helped you!”

“There is no pack! Boyd and Erica were leaving because of all this crap! Isaac was thinking about following them! And now freaking Peter is back, and Derek’s letting him tag along like a sick puppy! He’s the guy who bit me, Stiles! He did this to me!” Scott was visibly upset, and Stiles didn’t want to lose his friend, but he was tired of everyone refusing to work together. Every time the two groups went head-to-head, chaos ensued. The one time Stiles can think of when they all worked together, the pack found him and saved his life. He tells this to Scott.

Scott looks likes he might relent for a split second, but evidently is refusing to back down. “I won’t play lapdog to Derek.”

“You don’t have to. Who knows, maybe you two could work together. With his brawn, your heart, add a dash of my smarts and witty banter, we could make a pretty decent Alpha!” Stiles jokes, trying to keep the conversation from getting too heated. He really didn’t want to lose Scott. Not after everything they’ve been through.

Scott doesn’t seem to get the message, though. “He’s a dick, and you know it. I’m not going to work with him.”

“I’m not saying you have to love the guy; I just think that when the next Big Bad comes passing through our humble abode, it might be nice to know that we have people we can rely on and work with instead of fighting against each other all the time! It’s going to be a lot harder to protect everybody if you’re an Omega.”

“I’m an Alpha in right, Derek said so himself!”

“Scott, no. You don’t have an Alpha’s strength and you don’t have a pack. Allison’s gone off the rails, and I’m….” Stiles runs through words like powerless and human and liability, but settles with, “It would just make more sense if we all worked together on this.”

Scott shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re seriously backing him. You’re supposed to be my friend.” He gives Stiles a betrayed look.

“I am, I’m just trying to—” He’s cut off as Scott climbs through the window and rushes off, leaving Stiles to stare out into the night. He stops himself from saying a few choice words and glares at the glass of water like it was to blame for this whole mess. Stiles went to bed irritated that night.

^^^^^

He doesn’t go to school the next day. His dad had claimed that he needed his rest before throwing himself back into the fray that was high school. Hey, who was he to argue with the Sheriff? So he spends the day sleeping, eating the Cheetos he had hidden in his closet, and wandering about an empty house after his dad leaves for work. He is decidedly not thinking about his conversation with Scott the night before. Stiles just hopes they can get passed this…minor disagreement. 

He is just about to start on his General Tso’s chicken for a late lunch/early dinner (thank god the Chinese place in town delivered, there was no real food in the fridge and his car is still at the school) when there is a knock on the door. He opens it to reveal a sheepish looking Scott. Stiles stares for a moment before making room for the other teen to enter. Scott ducks his head and walks over to the couch, sitting on the edge furthest away from the pile of food on the coffee table. Stiles closes the door and silently walks back to his previous spot on the opposite side of the couch. He continues to eat, mostly ignoring Scott while the other teen watches with an anxious stare.

“So…”

Stiles pauses mid-bite to look at Scott expectantly. He waits as his friend seemed to be wrestling with himself on what to say next. 

“I’m sorry.”

The short-haired teen snorts as he turns back to his food. “That’s a start.”

“Come on! I said I was—” Stiles cuts his off with a pointed look. Scott forces himself to calm down. “I am. Sorry. It’s just…I don’t trust him.”

“He helped save my life,” Stiles points out. “And yours. On several occasions.”

“Yeah, but…” Scott bites his cheek. 

“Derek’s not the one who bit you. You can’t keep blaming him for that. And he did try to help you. Granted he totally sucked at it, but it’s the thought that counts, right?” The teen lets out a small smirk. “And wouldn’t it be nice to not be alone in the whole Werewolf 101 thing? It might make everything easier, at least.”

Scott takes in a deep breath as he seems to consider Stiles’ words. “You knew something was off about Matt before we found out he was psycho.”

Stiles gives a confused look before popping half a dumpling in his mouth. “Eah? Tho?” he says around the food.

“I dunno. Maybe I should…” He sighs. “Give Derek a chance? If you think we can trust him?”

Stiles considers him. “Yeah. I think we can trust him, mostly. He’s never done anything to blatantly try to kill us, so that’s miles ahead of most people we’ve met recently.” The teen gives his best friend a smirk and offers Scott a crab stick. He’s met with a wide grin and a nod of thanks.

He waits before Scott has a mouth full of food before saying, “You’ll have to grovel, a bit, of course.”

Scott’s head wheels around to look at him, just short of choking on the crab. “Wha’?”

“Well, you were kind of a douche. Like, Jackson-level doucheyness. And Big Bad Alpha isn’t the forgiving type. So you aren’t going to be able to just waltz back into the pack. You’ll probably be on wolfy probation, or something…” He shrugs at his friend’s horrified look. “Dumpling?” he offers with a smile. Scott takes one with a blank look, still stuck on the prospect of begging for a place in the pack. 

“How was school?” Stiles asks as he digs into the container of General Tso’s chicken. His friend watches the food longingly, slowly scooting closer until Stiles hands him one of his chopsticks, and they both proceed to plow into the chicken, stabbing the food with the sticks because both were too lazy to go to the kitchen for a fork. 

“Meh. Kind of boring when I don’t have you constantly talking in my ear and getting me in trouble with the teachers,” he grins.

“Hey!”

“But a few people asked about you. There’s a rumor going around that you got mauled by another mountain lion.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Do these people only know one animal? What’d you say?”

“I said it was a tiger that escaped from the zoo, and you fought it off with your bare hands.”

“You did not!” Scott grins and nods.

“I did.”

Stiles laughs and nudges his friends shoulder. The pain killers are doing their job, he notes, when he isn’t rewarded with an ache from his injury. He pumps his fist.

“That is why you are my best friend, dude! Yes!”

^^^^^

“Stiles! Open up!”

Stiles swings around at the shout, soundly banging his cling-wrapped-casted arm on the shower wall. He lets out a yell and fumbles to stop himself from falling, knocking over his body wash, which falls directly on to his toe. _Of freaking course._ He rights himself and turns off the stream of water. Stepping out of the shower, he grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist. 

Once he enters his room, he sees a dejected Scott waiting at the window, head pressed against the glass. Stiles lets him in.

“Why didn’t you use your key?”

“I lost it,” Scott replies miserably. “And your window was locked. You window’s never locked!”

“It was chilly last night,” Stiles shrugs. 

“And why are you naked?”

“You have bad timing,” he says accusingly. “Not my fault.”

Stiles grabs a pair of boxer briefs from his dresser and slips back into the bathroom. Once he’s not fully naked, he takes the cling wrap off his cast and comes back to find Scott lying facedown on his bed.

“What’s up?” he inquires as he snags a lose pair of sweatpants and tugs them on. 

“Aysin brock uh wi mm.”

“That’s…yeah, I didn’t get any of that. Could you say that again?”

Scott picks his head up from Stiles’ pillow. “Allison broke up with me.”

“Ah. That is definitely a not-good situation. Why?”

“She said she wanted to get everything straightened out in her head. And with her dad. I think the whole Your-Grandpa’s-A-Psycho thing got to her.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Well it _has_ only been a week and a half. She may just need some time to come to terms with her freaky family.”

Scott sighs. “I met her this morning. I told her I’d wait for her and that I still love her, but this whole thing sucks.”

“Yeah. Sorry, buddy.” He sits down next to his friend. “Is there anything I can do?”

Scott sits up eagerly. “Can I borrow your new game?” he asks with a grin.

Stiles stares for a moment at the puppy that is his best friend. “Isn’t your computer broken?”

The werewolf groans with that realization and lets himself fall back onto the bed once more. 

“Sucks.”

“Yep. But!” Stiles pauses for emphasis as his friend looks up, hopeful. “You can always play it on my Mac, considering I have a limb out of commission.”

Scott pops back up and fist pumps, jumping off the end of the bed and snagging the game off the desk as Stiles starts his computer. While the injured teen sets up the game, his friend brings over the spare chair, and they both wait impatiently as the game loads. They spend the next hour and a half battling through The Witcher 2, Scott at the controls while Stiles yells out directions and berates him for dying spectacularly so soon in the game.

The playful atmosphere dissipated the moment Scott flippantly states, “Oh, yeah, I talked to Derek,” not taking his eyes off the screen as he fends off an attack from behind. Stiles stops with wide eyes.

“What? When? Dude! I thought you wanted me to go with you?”

Scott shrugs. “I ran into him yesterday. You were at your follow-up, what was I going to do, ignore him? I needed to talk to him, so I did.”

“What’d he say? Is he letting you back in the pack? Did he challenge you to the death for disgracing his honor? Are you—”

“Stiles! Yeah, he’s letting me back. Says I’m on ‘probation’ until I can prove that I won’t kill him in his sleep or something.”

Stiles shakes his head in confusion. “Just like that? No groveling, no weeping, no begging for mercy at his feet, offering your body as tribute? That’s a bit anti-climatic…”

He gets a strange look, and all Stiles can do shrug with an innocent look and pretend nothing happened. Scott shakes his head and says, “He wasn’t going to even talk to me until I said that you talked me into it.”

“Seriously? Ha! I knew he like me better than you!”

Scott rolls his eyes. “I think it might have more to do with the paralyzing him and forcing him to bite Gerard thing more than your quality as a person.”

The teens looks at his best friend with wide eyes. “That hurts, Scott. Right there.” He pounds his chest and pouts. Scott shoves him sideways before going back to the game. 

“How was your appointment?”

Stiles glances at Scott before shrugging and watches the game. “Arm’s doing well, no complications as of yet. It’s a pretty clean break, so I shouldn’t have a problem with it after it’s healed.”

“And the other stuff?”

“You mean where I was gutted like a pig?” Stiles laughs at his friend’s scrunched face. “Whatever Deaton did to me worked. It’s healed a lot faster than I expected. Shouldn’t be long before you can’t tell where the cut was. Which sucks, because no scars for me. I get to go back to being boring old Stiles with no stories about saving babies from bears.”

“Tigers,” Scott corrects. “You have stories.”

“ _Yeah_ , none I can _tell_. They all involve werewolves and lizard people and _hello_. I don’t feel like being carted off to a mental institute any time soon.”

Scott concedes.

“So does Derek have any plans to—behind you, get ‘em!—get the pack together and howl at the moon or whatever you guys do?”

Stiles can practically _feel_ the look on his friend’s face that screams _“Ha. Ha. Hilarious.”_

“He does have a pack meeting thing planned, but I think the others convinced him to wait.”

“Why?”

“Finals,” Scott answers with a defeated tone.

“ _Oh_. Well that’s…actually _nice_ of him; are you sure he’s really Derek?”

Scott gives him a look. “Man, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Finals are going to _kill_ me.”

“You know, if you do well on all your finals, you could still pass.”

Stiles watches as Scott bangs his head on the desk. And as he does it a second time. And a third. And a—

“ _Okay_ , that’s enough; you’re going to give _me_ a headache,” Stiles says as he halts his friend’s attempts to slam his head into the nearest hard object. Scott just groans. Stiles saves and quits the game. 

“Hey!”

“Nope. No whining. There is too much whining. We are going to study, we are going to pass our finals, and we are going to be hot young studs in our junior year of high school. Got it?” He doesn’t wait for Scott to agree, just grabs the nearest textbook from his bag. “Now, this is a book. You used to read these before the whole ‘I’m a werewolf with a girlfriend’ phase. I’m sure you remember how they work.”

They go through the material until well after the sun sets. Both teens lose track of time until they hear Stiles’ dad pull his squad car into the driveway. 

Scott glances at the clock. “Crap, I’d better get home.” Stiles follows him down the stairs and they meet his dad in the living room.

“Hey, boys. Is there anything to eat?”

“There’s some leftover veggie lasagna in the fridge if you’re hungry,” Stiles replies with a smirk. “I know how much you love it.”

The Sheriff gives a pained smile and slowly makes his way to the fridge, resigned to his fate.

Scott watches him sympathetically. “I’m off. My mom’ll kill me if I’m late for curfew again. At least, she’s threatening to take my lacrosse gear and sell them on eBay.”

“Harsh,” Stiles declares.

Scott just shrugs and smiles. “She won’t…I’m pretty sure. But I don’t feel like testing the theory.”

Stile’s dad looks over his shoulder from where he’s staring at the offending lasagna. “You need a lift?” He almost sounds hopeful. Stiles thinks he may be planning on stopping at the fast food joint that’s not far from Scott’s house.

“No, thanks, I can walk,” Scott beams. “Have a good dinner!” 

Stiles swears he hears a indignant groan coming from the kitchen as he trails Scott outside. 

“Hey, let me know when Tall, Dark, and Grumpy decides to have the meeting. I have a few theories on pack strategies in case zombies turn out to be real.”

“Zombies?” Scott inquires, confused.

“Yeah, just something that’s been on my mind lately.”

Scott looks uncomfortable for a moment. “Stiles…”

“What?”

“It’s just. I tried to convince him, but like you said before, I’m on thin ice as it is, so I can’t really push him too much.”

Stiles tries to sort out his friend’s thoughts to no avail. “I think you left something vital out of that train of thought.”

A sigh breaks the silence. “Derek said you couldn’t come to the meeting. Well, he actually said no humans, but that…you know…”

“Pretty much excludes me, specifically, from everything. Lack of fangs and all,” Stiles can feel his face start to fall, so he quickly slips a smile over his features. “Yeah, right, I get it. Humans would slow you guys down. There’s not any training or anything I can really help with, with the whole not being able to heal thing. And the already injured thing. And the lack of super strength. And speed. And smell.”

Scott makes a face. “What does smell have to do with training?”

Stiles holds himself back from slapping his palm to his forehead. 

“Nothing. Obviously.” Stiles briefly wonders if Scott catches the sarcasm. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.

“Stiles, I really did want you to come, but—”

“I get it. Totally, 100% in understanding over here.” He smiles to reassure Scott. “Go on, before you have to explain to Finstock why you have to practice using a baseball glove tied to a stick.”

Scott reluctantly agrees and runs off, leaving Stiles to mull. 

_“I’m responsible for my pack.”_

Because obviously _pack_ didn’t mean _I see you as pack so you can come to pack meetings_ but actually meant _I need you to get Scott to see the error of his ways because I need more Betas and I have the communication skills of a stick._ Because obviously Stiles is a human. So he can’t be part of a werewolf pack. Just as he suspected.

Of course, that doesn’t make his life suck less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story will pick up speed as I go, bear with me!
> 
> Also, the game mentioned was picked based on release dates (I haven't actually played it). The story started on May 18, 2011, and the game was released the day before. It's a PC game, but I dare you to tell me Stiles hasn't hacked his Mac. :P
> 
> Beta'd by august_justice


End file.
